Mike Price: I’m in the Target parking lot, sitting behind the wheel of my van and scribbling on the back of an old Sierra Pacific bill. My life’s companion, an ever-present oxygen tank, sits upright in the shotgun seat next to me. I hate that sonofabitch tank.
bout two weeks ago the Daily Beast published an entire word-for-word piece written and posted last May. It was about Conan O’Brien’s lame effort to perform what might be the trickiest form of entertainment. The item pointed out that he had neither the skill-set nor dues-paying experience to attempt the art of standup comedy. (Oh, […]
verybody seems to have a theory about the “real” reason for Keith Olbermann’s sudden departure from MSNBC. Mine, not that anybody asked, is that it had something to do with his insistence upon reading James Thurber to us every Friday at the close of his show. As a young man I used to read Thurber, […]
he following interview of the undisclosed smarmy publisher of the worst garbage in the history of print was conducted at an undisclosed location by an undisclosed columnist of questionable character. Undisclosed Columnist: May I call you Rupert, Mister Murdoch? Rupert Murdoch: You promised my identity would be undisclosed. UC: Yeah. I lied like a Limbaugh. […]
upert Murdoch dumped you for a tax break. That’s right. Now, he claims to be an American. Clearly, he thinks so little of Australia that he’s willing to dilute his citizenship to your great country. With money enough to live in great luxury any place in the world, he lives here, in the United States, […]